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The former Dallas Cowboy glances at the enormous hunk of metal and stones on his right ring finger and ponders why anyone would sell football’s ultimate symbol of sacrifice and success: the Super Bowl ring.

“I can’t imagine the process that person has to go through to depart with something that means so much,” said Johnston, who owns three.

But in the NFL careers last an average of only 31/2 years, and a Super Bowl ring — valued in the tens of thousands of dollars — can be a tempting windfall when the glory days fade.

Scores of rings hit the market every year, usually the result of what brokers call the three D’s: drugs, divorce and death. Most sales are cloaked in secrecy, a testament to the stigma that surrounds an act many consider sacrilege.

But not all ring transactions end in despair. Some have transcended sports — and money. Some have sparked self-evaluation, generosity and redemption.

“I believe in miracles,” said Dexter Manley, a former Washington Redskin who sold his Super Bowl XVII ring to buy cocaine in the late 1990s. “And it’s an act of God that I have my ring back in my possession.”

A Super Bowl ring is perhaps the biggest prize in all of football. Only the Lombardi Trophy rivals it.

Kids dream of them, studded with diamonds and other gems. Players take salary cuts to join teams with a better shot of winning one. Even Fox’s Super Bowl promotions this year come with the tagline, “It’s all about the ring.”

Not everyone, such as former Cowboy Deion Sanders, agrees with that mind-set.

“The journey meant a lot more to me than any ring,” he said. “I never wore them. I never even tried them on.”

But for most, the ring is a timeless reminder of excellence. It makes the already select group of professional football players and coaches even more elite.

“If you are a team player, it’s in the gut that this is a lot more special than any individual award,” said Cowboys great Roger Staubach.”

Ring for sale

That exclusivity explains why fans and collectors are willing to shell out up to $70,000 to own one.

Tim Robins runs championship-rings.net, a California-based website that sells college and pro sports rings. He’s seen business explode in the past decade. Last year alone, he received nearly 1,900 championship rings, 350 of them from the Super Bowl.

And the demand continues to outpace the supply.

“Buying a ring is a lot less expensive than a lifetime of blood, sweat and tears,” Robins said, explaining the rings’ appeal to collectors.

For players, the equation isn’t so simple.

Je’Rod Cherry, a former New England Patriots safety, was challenged by a girl at a youth conference in 2008 to sell his Super Bowl ring and give the proceeds to charity.

Even though he knew the money would benefit several groups, Cherry fretted over the decision. He questioned whether he should give up his first ring — his favorite — or the two others he won as a Patriot.

After praying on it, he raffled off the ring that meant the most to him — and helped raise nearly $150,000.

“I do not disrespect the idea of what the ring represents,” Cherry said. “I tried to elevate it to something even better.”

Lost bet. Lost ring.

But the decision to sell a Super Bowl ring becomes even more complicated when a player hits rock bottom — either financially or emotionally.

Lester Hayes’ moment came in the late 1990s, when the Oakland Raider star needed money for an emergency dental procedure.

At the time, Hayes said he had all his cash tied up in a “Charles Barkley-kind of bet.” Rather than ask friends and family for help — and reveal his gambling addiction — Hayes pawned his Super Bowl XVIII ring for several hundred dollars.

Hayes lost the bet. He came down with another illness. And the seven-day deadline to repay his loan passed.

Hayes lost his ring — and realized he needed to change his ways.

“It was spiritual chastisement, I can see this now,” said Hayes, who also played at Texas A&M University. “It taught me a valuable lesson: to stop gambling.”

Hayes wasn’t lucky enough to get his back. He now owns a replica.

Super Bowl ring finds its way home

For some, the Super Bowl ring has managed to find its way home.

Manley of the Redskins thought his ring was gone for good after he sold it to buy cocaine in 1998. Houston lawyer John O’Quinn — Manley’s mentor and benefactor — had other ideas.

He believed in Manley’s path to recovery and bought back the ring from the pawnshop.

A year later, he presented the missing ring to Manley. But Manley gave it back to O’Quinn for safekeeping.

“I knew the beast was still inside of me,” said Manley, who grew up in Houston and starred at Oklahoma State.

Years passed and Manley, with the help of O’Quinn and others, continued to battle his demons.

Then in 2009, O’Quinn died, and a grieving Manley wondered what ever happened to his ring.

O’Quinn, it turned out, left instructions: Manley could only get it if he was truly drug-free.

Four years clean last January, Manley finally reclaimed his Super Bowl ring.